Coming Out to My Grandpa With Dementia — Over and Over Again

By Zachary Zane

December 25, 2017

“Well then, why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

His knees were aching and he’d lost his left hearing aid, but that wasn’t going to stop my grandpa from getting lunch with me. For years now, we’d been frequenting the same restaurant: Millie’s in Van Nuys. The food is simple and the coffee is strong. But more importantly, it’s only a short drive from his house off Ventura Blvd. He can’t sit in the car for long without his back giving him trouble.

I had grown to love the time I spent with my grandpa. It was always one of the highlights of coming back from college for winter and spring breaks. In fact, it was the real reason why I decided to schlep 3,000 miles across the country, instead of staying with my friends on the East Coast.

But this time, it was different. This time, I could see his mental decline. His dementia had progressed from slight loss of memory to complete disorientation. In the five minutes I picked him up from his house, he asked me “Where ya been?” and “What ya been up to?” no less than half a dozen times.

Each time I replied with the same excitement. “I just graduated from college. I live in Boston now.” He’d nod. Pause. Then ask the question again.

When we got to Millie’s, and the black coffee got his blood pumping, my grandpa asked me yet another familiar question.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

If I say, “No,” he’ll ask why not, and tell me it’s time to find a nice woman to settle down with. He’d been giving me this advice since I was 15. If I reply, “Yes,” he’ll want to know when I’m getting married, regardless of my youth.

This time, for the first time ever, I had a different response.

“I actually like guys.”

Over the course of lunch, I came out to grandpa in a handful of
different ways.

Before my talk with Grandpa, I hadn’t come out to my family as bisexual. I hadn’t told them about the men I’d been dating and sleeping with, and how at least for the time being, I don’t see myself having a girlfriend in the near future. I wanted to — I needed to — explore my male attractions.

It’s not that I thought my family would disown me. We were Jewish liberals who lived in the valley. We were open and inclusive. Besides, I had gay uncles, and no one in the family seemed to care in the slightest.

Still, I felt as if I needed to have everything settled before coming out. I knew an onslaught of questions would be thrown at me: “Are you sure?” “What have you done with men?” and “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I wouldn’t be able to answer many of the questions. At a time when I wasn’t exactly sure of my identity, I didn’t want to have to explain or justify who I was.

It wasn’t the whole truth when I told Grandpa I liked guys. I like men, women, and all other genders, but it felt easier than saying to him, “I’m actually exploring my sexuality and discovering my identity.”

“Oh!” He said and then paused. He looked at me blankly, and my heart started to race. Right as I was about to beat myself up for saying something, his face changed from expressionless to confusion.

“Well then, why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

I half-laughed, half-cried. “I don’t know,” I eventually said.

“You know, it’s important to have a man in your life that you can settle down with and marry.” This was roughly a year before same-sex marriage became the law of the land.

“I know. I know, but I’m still very young, Grandpa. I’m barely 22.”

He took a bite out of his pancakes doused in ketchup. This wasn’t dementia-related; he always preferred ketchup to syrup on his pancakes.

“So do you have a girlfriend?” he asked again.

“You know Grandpa, I actually have a boyfriend.” It was a lie, but I wanted to see if his response would be any different.

“Oh!” he said. Then he nodded in approval. “Good. It’s important to have someone you can be with for the long haul.”

I smiled. Another big, fat, stupid smile.

Over the course of lunch, I came out to grandpa in a handful of different ways. Each time he approved. Each time he just wanted to make sure there was someone, regardless of gender, I could spend the rest of my life with.

With each time he accepted me, I could feel the weight of being closeted lift from my shoulders. I felt like I was entitled to love, that I deserved someone to spend the rest of my life with, and it doesn’t matter who that person is.

My grandpa’s dementia escalated over the past four years, until he eventually passed away in July. After our first conversation and up until he died, instead of asking, “Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked, “Are you dating anyone?” I believe that somewhere, buried deep in his subconscious, he remembered not to gender any of my partners.

Zachary Zane is a Brooklyn-based freelance writer, speaker, and activist whose work focuses on sexuality, gender, identity politics, scientific research, and culture. He's currently a contributing editor at both PRIDE and The Advocate. He's also written for a number of publications including The Washington Post, Rolling Stone, Cosmopolitan, Slate, Out Magazine*, and more.*